


A GUIDE TO ST CUSTARD'S by s. holmes

by governess_of_floods



Category: Molesworth - Geoffrey Willans (ill. Ronald Searle), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, I'm so sorry, Intentionally Bad Spelling & Grammar, Kidlock, schoolboy sherlock, sherlock is molesworth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/governess_of_floods/pseuds/governess_of_floods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I mashed Sherlock and Molesworth together and this was what happened. I'm so so sorry.</p><p>I have it in my head that Sherlock thought learning spelling was boring, he was too busy with other things.</p><p>DON'T JUDGE ME.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A GUIDE TO ST CUSTARD'S by s. holmes

Welcom to st. custards. Oh what a lovely skool! you sa. Oh how charming and djejune the pigeons coo gently in the rafter as sunlight pla over the golden locks of rosy-cheked boys, truly this is a childhood idyl!

 

oh you misgided visitor. nothing cud be further from the UGLY TRUTH.

 

st. custards was built by a madman in 1836 and has only gone downhill from there. At least he put some rather super features in e.g. the fortifications to pot at gamekeepers. The current Skool Bord hav little interest in the important, prefering insted to focus on such things as LEAGUE TABLES and SPORT and PREPARING THE NEXT GENERATION FOR THE RESPONSIBILITIES OF LIFE. Wot rot eh? Anyway, they hav their work cut out with preparing my felow suferers for any responsibility wotsoever as they are clot-faced wets and uterly sordid. it is no wonder the Bord are all half bald wot with the amount of time they must spend tearing ther hair out over the REPUTATION of the SKOOL.

 

i am holmes 2 (sherlock to mummy & my most tresured frends e.g. watson), terror of the chem. room and as yet unapreciated genius. Sum of the other oiks that inhabit this wobegon place are:

 

WATSON: my very grate frend & constant companon. watson plans to atend medickal skool and so spends far too much time doing prep. he alos plas for the foopball furst eleven. i go to matches to lend him my suport GO ON WATSON MARK YORE MAN... GET INTO HIM!... SHOOT NOW YOU CLOT! watson is as you can see a BOY BEAUTIFUL in the mold of jennings, bob cherry et. al. (lat.)

 

LESTRADE: lestrade huge and hulking (he pla rugby hem hem). He is not very brany but can tuough you up.

 

GRABBER MA: head of the skool captane of everything and winner of the mrs joyful prize for rafia work.

 

MYCROFT: mycroft is my bro chiz chiz chiz which mean that he is holmes 1 CHIZ CURSES. he hav no oficial role in skool but grabber ma asks him fore advice enuff said. I think he hav blackmail matereal on the whole skool bord. I diskard him.

 

IRENE: sometimes to be seen comeing from the direcktshun of mr. thomas's bedrum (altho i do not kno what she sees in him. He is utterly wet and a weed).

 

MRS HUDSON: beluved matron of the skool. Can generally be found smoking herbal soothers (hem hem) in sick bay. Sick bay therefor v. popular with certain BOYS- i wish to kast no aspershuns but many seem suspicusly pron to accident. Wot is the youth of toda coming to, i sa?

 

st. custards is an old and venerable institution, and nowhere is this so apparent as in the provision of its scientifick facilities. The chem. room is next to matron's room so one has to be kareful when illegally using it, as making a bish may call swift vengeance down on your unfortunate hed. Hoewver most people are boring & need to slep a lot, so finding a queit moment is fairly easy.

 

Shud you venture in here, please do note touch anything. It is carefully calibrated and will one day vastly further the endevor of SCIENCE.

 

Musick room next. Here i pla violin sweetly. mycroft sa if musick be the food of love i have definitly given him exess of it but this is mere jelosy. all he can pla is fairy bells on the piano which sound like atom bomb WHUM BAM PLUNK. he has not the soul of an artist.

 

Neither has watson, who pla clarinet with tortured xpression in skool band. i do not join him, my genius is to rareified for such kommon things as bluebells of scotland _en masse_.

 

Also mr. johnson sa that if i kan pla double speed then jolly good and cheers for me old chap but that it spoils the coherense of the ensemble as a hole if i pla 52 bars in the time it taks for watson to pla 10, lestrade to drop triangle I HEARD THAT LESTRADE SEE ME AFTERWADS, mycroft to look at mr. johnson w. dagger in smile (shakspear) & fothering-tomas to burst into tears like the weedy wet that he is. “artistick differences,” i sa breezily to mummy on fone. “c'est la vie.” mycroft zoom past calling something v. rude. i tell him to go away. “Was that mycroft?” mummy sa. “what did he sa?” “i kannot bring myself too soil my inocent lips by repeeting,” i sa. i put the phone down impresed w. self-restrant- i exude a quiet digniti, i think to myself. it is the wisdom that comes thruogh age & lerning.

 

mycroft throw a tomato at hed. Age & lerning vanish, replaced by desire to tuogh him up as i chase after him enraeged. Chiz chiz chiz but such is life.

 

the last imp. place in the skool is the bike shed. the shed in itself is not xpecialy interesting, unless yore tastes run to the bashed-in bikes that the masters cycle around on, knees tuked up to their chin like the bony beaks they are. sometime mr. thomas cycles IRENE around the contryside tho which is quit a sight i must sa. if you ask fore permishun to go birdwatching you can sometimes find them froliking in pastoral idils or quiet bits of woodland. if you take the requisite precaushuns not to get cauhgt it can be an educatoinal & eye-opening sight... where was i?

 

Anyway. Behind the bike shed is a bubble of calm where we boys cum to sneak a quiet fag or 2 and shake off the kares of daily life. “watson,” i sa wearily, “do you ever muse on the lonliness of the human kondition?”

 

“Indeed i do, holmes,” he sa. “Do you want to pla foopball?” We thro our dog-ends to the flor and off we scamper, repulsivly rosy-cheked and helthy.

 

 

 


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